


Thrall

by AstroGirl



Category: Farscape
Genre: BDSM, Het, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-12
Updated: 2009-12-12
Packaged: 2017-10-04 09:06:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AstroGirl/pseuds/AstroGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angsty Braca/Grayza.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thrall

**Author's Note:**

> This actually isn't quite as explicit as it might have been, but is sort of dark'n'kinky, and while I wouldn't call it non-con, the issue is a tiny bit murky. Written for the Braca ficathon. Thanks to Snowgrouse for the beta.

With the musky-sweet scent of her oil, she commands his body, and he obeys. But she never commands his loyalty.

The softness of her body repulses him even as he strokes it, embraces it, kneads it with the fervor of a starving man clutching a rotting fruit. The smug superiority of her smile disgusts him, until he has no option but to kiss it fiercely from her lips. And when her teeth nip and bite at him, he closes his eyes and imagines a different mouth, sharper teeth drawing forth his blood, hot Scarran breath mingling with his. It excites him more than the oil, stirs him in places her pheromones can never reach.

She enjoys hurting him, inflicting a hundred tiny pains each session, and she believes he enjoys it, too. She's right. Every bruise, every stinging rake of her nails, every chafing burn of rope and bite of metal induces in him a kind of martyr's ecstasy. _For you,_ he thinks. _Oh, see what I'm doing, what I'm enduring, for_ you_!_ He thinks of Scorpius looking through his eyes, feeling through his senses, seeing, _knowing_, through the silent, invisible link that connects them... It's enough to block out the sight of her face, to transform the vile presumption of her touch into a sweetness like caressing scales and leather.

Grayza thinks that she dominates him, that his gasps and sighs and the shuddering of his flesh are hers. But she, too, is only a tool, wielded in the hands of his true master, and his pleasure belongs to her no more than to the whip. _This is for all the times I had to say yes,_ he'd said, but Grayza had never understood. Braca _likes_ saying yes. And pain, inflicted or given, in the service of greater loyalty -- what a member of a less disciplined species might call greater love -- is a joy. An overwhelming, orgasmic joy.

When he comes, crying out beneath her his soul's surrender, Grayza celebrates the victory as her own, blissful in her arrogance and her ignorance. She never sees the secret smile in his eyes. And she never hears his heart.


End file.
